Chill Me, Thrill Me, Fulfill Me
by lennonislove
Summary: Written for a challenge: Nick's parents are coming to dinner, but Nick's got his mind on other things. Maybe he should have planned this better? With a deafening fluff content and Greg in drag.


"Greg? Greggo?" Nick dropped his coat halfway to reaching the hook and stepped over it. He moved around the house, making a mental list of things he needed to put away in the next hour: The Las Vegas Gay News, the "ban proposition # 14" posters he'd put up in the kitchen, the Rocky Horror Picture Show tickets laying on the bathroom counter. He picked up said tickets and waved them in Greg's face, in hopes of distracting him long enough from his primping to steal a kiss. No such luck.

Greg leaned back, smacking his lips. He pointed to the tickets. "No, Nicky, those are for AFTER the d-day dinner."

Nick leaned forward and tried to kiss his lips, but got his cheek instead, noticing that he smelled distinctly minty. "Did you pick up everything I asked you to?" he asked hopefully, watching Greg's face twist into a subtle smirk.

"The grocery store was out of the seasoning you like," he said, laughing, as Nick tried to kiss his neck. He backed away and sat in a smaller stool, leaving his seat free for Nick, who took it absentmindedly. "But I figure it's simple enough. If we can't fake it, we'll survive with just salt."

Nick hadn't exactly been listening, nor had he really cared whether Greg had gotten exactly what he asked for. On one hand, he'd just wanted to hear Greg talk. On the other, he was distracted by the thought of the tickets in his hand. Greg caught him looking at them, and coughed loudly. "What did I say?" he asked, with a disapproving frown. "That's for later." He couldn't help the smile that crept across his face.

Nick looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Right. And you'd better remember that too. What are we not mentioning during dinner?"

Greg leaned back, ticking off his fingers one by one, with an amused look in his eyes. "One. I will not ask your parents if they want to see my costume." Nick tried hard not to think of that costume, complete with corset and fishnet stockings. "Two. I will not ask you to thrill me, chill me, or fulfill me. Until they're gone," he added campily. "Three. I should not expect to get the same response to 'who is Tim Curry?' from them as I would at the theatre." Nick nodded, seriously doubting that his parents would have _any_ answer for that. "And four. They most likely have no idea who Barry Bostwick is, so for everyone's sakes, I won't bring it up." Nick grinned in spite of himself. Tonight was going to be mind-blowing, if he and Greg survived dinner. Not only was Greg's body absolutely _made_ for that tight little corset, and not only was his obsession with the film absolutely adorable (always making sure they had all their props, and yelling lines back at the characters on screen), but Greg got so hot and bothered at the sight of Tim Curry, Barry Bostwick, and Peter Hinwood in drag that, last time, he and Nick hadn't even made it out of the theatre. They'd spent fifteen minutes making love on the balcony before any spotted them, and then half an hour more in the car before even getting home, where Greg had –

Okay, so, last season, the Red Sox absolutely mauled the Yankees . . .. Nick hung his head. Dead puppies? No, not even that thought could stop him from getting painfully turned on sitting right there on a stool in the bathroom.

Greg, with a cheesy smile that said all too well that he noticed everything, rested his head on the counter and bit his lip. "Do you think they'll like me?"

Shit. That did it. One mention of Nick's parents did wonders where baseball and mauling small, fluffy animals had failed. Reaching forward to pet Greg's hair, Nick sighed. "No," he laughed.

Greg smacked his hand and went back to fixing his hair.

Nick was just putting the finishing touches on the table when Greg finally emerged from the bedroom, wearing jeans and a suit top. "Better?" he asked, spinning around.

Nick walked over and pulled Greg in by his hips, planting a kiss on his forehead. "You look beautiful."

Greg tilted his head back, puckering his lips until Nick gave him a real kiss. "That's it," he said, teasingly. "Have you 'straightened up'?" He laughed. That was what Nick's sister called it when he would hide anything remotely suggesting 'gay'. Greg thought it was hilarious.

Nick nodded, pursing his lips. He hated doing it, but by now it was a habit. Greg leaned forward and kissed Nick's nose. "Don't worry, it'll all go fine."

Nick, preferring not to think about "it" at the moment, and still having Greg's hips to control him with, pushed him up against the wall and kissed him. When they broke apart, Greg gasped, "Okay, if that's the first thing you want your parents to see when they get here. 'Oh, hello, Judge and Mrs. Stokes. Don't mind us, we're off for a quickie, so why don't you make yourselves at home?'" When Nick frowned, he added, "Oh, P.S., your beloved son is gay."

That was when the doorbell decided to ring. Nick had never exactly wanted to rip the chimes out of his wall before, but, at that moment, that was really all he wanted. He took a deep breath and stepped back from Greg, smoothing out his shirt. Greg ran his fingers through his hair as Nick opened the door.

"Poncho!" The stately looking Judge Stokes came almost bounding through the door to gather his son up in a huge bear hug. Mrs. Stokes followed, and, after handing her purse and coat to a waiting Greg, gave her son a hug too.

"Is this your roommate?" she asked vaguely when the commotion had settled, nodding towards Greg. "I just assumed you were living with your girlfriend."

Nick's face went ghostly pale, and, for a second, Greg thought he'd have to step in. Then, Nick said, with absolutely no conviction. "We live together."

His father nodded curtly to Greg and shook his hand. "Judge Stokes," he introduced himself.

"Greg Sanders," Greg returned, feeling more awkward than he had . . . ever. He raised his eyebrows at Nick, who was staring blankly and seemed to have lost all consciousness. "Here, let me show you to the living room," Greg offered, letting them lead the way, because, in all honesty, you could see exactly where everything was from the front door. They did, however, seem grateful for the courtesy. He squeezed Nick's hand on the way by. "Come on," he whispered.

Nick let Greg drag him into the living room and plopped down on the couch next to his mother while Greg took a chair. He kept staring blankly. Finally, his father made conversation. "How's work, Poncho?"

Nick's shaking lip dropped slightly. Greg prayed that he'd be able to form words. "F-fine." Somehow, Nick's parents didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

Nick's mom shifted uncomfortably. Greg assumed that it was the awkward silence at first, that is, until she pulled out his Queer as Folk DVDs.

_Damn._ He knew his hiding places sucked, but he'd thought that would be an okay one. He'd figured they'd go straight to the dining room, but – fuck. He gave himself a mental kick when he realized that _he'd_ been the one to lead them in here.

He sighed audibly when she just put them down on the table, looking completely unfazed.

Nick, however, did not seem so thrilled. It took Greg a few seconds to realize why.

Judge Stokes's face had gone a sickening beet red, which Greg guessed was caused by mostly embarrassment, quite a bit of anger, and a little fear. After all, he was a Texan. "Poncho," he said firmly. Nick looked back from where he had locked eyes with Greg. "Can we talk outside for a minute?"

And so they left, leaving Greg alone with a very composed, yet pink-cheeked Mrs. Stokes.

Greg started to ask her if she wanted a drink, but was interrupted.

"Do you love him?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "Not to sound fairy-tale-ish," (he flinched at his choice of words) "but I've never loved anyone like I love Nicky. And I don't think I ever will." He flashed his best charismatic grin and chanced a glance out onto the porch – Nick seemed to be getting quite the verbal bashing. He turned his gaze back to Mrs. Stokes, whose attention had been on the same thing.

"I think he's suspected it as long as I have," she said, referring to her husband. "His denial is just stronger than mine."

"So it's not completely my fault? For leaving Queer as Folk between the cushions?" Greg asked, borderline playfully.

She smiled and patted his hand. "No, honey, that was just, what do you call it? The hay that broke the something -"

"Straw that broke the camel's back?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, that. Only, this is a good thing. For me anyway. And for Nicky," she stressed. "Roger might need some time."

Nick's father was now sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, while Nick stood over him, crying.

"I wouldn't go out there, sweetheart," she said softly, grabbing Greg's arm as he made a move towards the door. He sat down and sighed, knowing she was right. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then – "Are you two going to get married?"

_Wow,_ Greg thought. _Nicky must be the only Texan in the world with a sense of tact._

"I mean," she continued, he lips pressed tightly together between words. "I'm not sure I'm . . . morally . . . okay with it." She frowned apologetically at Greg. "But I've never seen Nicky so happy."

Greg had no time to respond to that, because Judge Stokes stormed in. "Jillian, we're leaving."

"But, Sir," Greg protested. "We made dinner –"

He ignored Greg, and, barely leaving time for Mrs. Stokes to get her things, left in a noisy rage.

When they were gone, Greg joined Nick on the porch. He kissed the red mark on Nick's cheek. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

Nick put his arm around him and turned in to face Greg. He was crying, finally, having had to keep the tears at bay while his father was yelling.

Greg just held him, hoping that, if he squeezed him tight enough, he could absorb all of his pain.

About an hour and a half later, Nick was just waking up from where he had fallen asleep on their chaise lounge with Greg wrapped around him. "Morning, beautiful," Greg said, kissing Nick's eyelids. Nick smiled sleepily.

"Was that all a dream?"

Greg shook his head, honestly wishing with everything in him that he could have said yes. Nick put his head in the crook of Greg's arm and turned his head to look at him. "Don't think about it," Greg encouraged, but Nick shook his head.

"What did my mom say to you?"

Greg pulled an orchid out of the pot on the end table next to them and smiled, twisting the stem around his finger. "That she suspected it all along and that she thinks we're completely immoral."

Nick nodded as if that was exactly what he expected to hear.

"And," Greg said, his words catching in his throat. "She thinks we should get married."

Nick laughed and kissed Greg's cheek. "Really."

The sarcastic tone in his voice worried Greg, but, nonetheless, he dropped down to the floor in front of Nick and presented the flower that he'd twisted into a sort of makeshift ring. "Nicky, and understand that I'll love you no matter what you say, but, Nicky . . . will you marry me?"

Nick only laughed at first, but, when Greg didn't get up, he was in tears for the second time that night. He fell down in front of Greg and let him slip the orchid on his finger before tackling him to the ground for one huge 'thank you'.

It was eleven when the doorbell rang again, only, this time, Nick bounced to the door wearing a grin like he'd slept with a hanger in his mouth.

He greeted Catherine with a rib-crushing hug. After regaining use of her limbs, she sauntered in, looking perfect in a short, sassy maid costume. "Where's Greg?" she asked brightly, obviously having had _tons_ of caffeine before coming.

"Getting dressed," he answered, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

"What's with you?" she asked curiously, looking him up and down. "And don't tell me 'spectacular orgasm' because you're never this excited, even about that."

He wrinkled his nose and she giggled. "Besides that," he groaned. He held up his hand, and Catherine just stared.

"Why do you have a flower on your hand?" He could see the cogs moving in her brain. "Wait – left hand. Ring fi – oh my God, Nick!" She threw herself on him, showering his face with kisses. "Did he?"

Nick nodded as Greg walked out, all ready in his rather skimpy costume.

"When was this?" Cath asked, throwing herself on Greg in turn, and, likewise, covering him in kisses.

"About an hour ago," Nick replied, beaming.

Greg bit his lip, then turned and kissed Nick. "Awww, you guys are so sickening," Catherine teased. "Are you gonna tell everyone tomorrow?"

Greg nodded. "I think so." There was a moment of silence where they all just let the happiness flood the room, then Greg, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, asked, "Where's Linds?"

Cath tilted her head and gave him an are-you-crazy look. "Do you think I want her seeing all of this?" She tugged at the laces on Greg's corset, and he danced a little on his toes. He blushed.

"Where are my boots?" he asked Nick.

Nick shrugged. "Did you check the closet?"

Greg snorted at that for some reason, then traipsed off to the bedroom.

Cath went outside to start the car, and, when Greg came back out, pulling on knee-high leather boots, Nick couldn't quite remember how to lock the door. Greg backed him up against it and started pulling Nick's shirt off. "You can't be going in all these clothes. Dress as Rocky. Just wear your boxers."

Nick couldn't think of a clever enough response for that . . . or a response at all.

Greg reached behind him and opened the door, then backed out of it. "Nicky, come on . . . touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me, I want to be dirty . . . chill me, thrill me, fulfill me . . . creature of the night . . .."

_Shit,_ Nick thought as he closed the door behind him. _I get that pretty little thing every night for the rest of my life._

http/talk. 


End file.
